They couldn’t mention it. They didn’t remember it. ‘That lasted me a long time…probably until about ’92. I used the time and the money to study hypnosis, to refine the drugs…I’d gotten good enough that I didn’t need the drug at all anymore. I could just use my eyes and my voice, and women would go under for me. I’d invented variations on the drug, I was selling guaranteed aphrodisiacs to college boys who wanted their girlfriends to put out, I was selling term papers soaked in a mild euphoric that made the professors love what they were reading, I had three girls whose brains I’d burned out permanently that couldn’t think past a fifth-grade level and thought my dick tasted like cherries. I thought I was brilliant. Real ‘King of the World’ type stuff. ‘Turned out I was just a small-time hustler. ‘Frank grabbed me back in ’92. He didn’t hypnotize me, or drug me. He just had four big guys who did everything he asked grab me, bundle me into the back of a limo, and drive me to his place. I. I feel panic rising within me like a wave rolling over a beach. Like sand covered by the oncoming wave, all my insecurities, all my daily troubles disappear and there is only the fear and excitement of dying and an increasing desperation for one more lungful of air but nothing comes into my lungs. The hockey mask comes closer to my face and I feel like screaming but no sound escapes. I try to thrash around but my limbs are encased, trapped, immobile. I begin to relax, to accept the inevitable, to accept that my destiny belongs to the pitiless man in the hockey mask. I take one last long look at my friends gathered around me to witness my catharsis and I close my eyes and leave my body. I open my eyes and look down. In front of me I see a cup of black coffee. Next to it is a glass ashtray with half a cigarette leaning inside it. The end of the cigarette is burning. I try to move and discover that there is nothing binding my limbs. I can move freely. I reach out my left hand and pick.
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